


a thousand stars

by sunshinehalos



Category: Gattaca (1997)
Genre: ((dw it's minor!)), Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, Constellations, First Kiss, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Jerome Eugene Morrow Lives, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Stars, Swearing, idk what else to put here but pls read this i spent a lot of time on it, it's only wine and it's minor!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 02:50:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19075966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinehalos/pseuds/sunshinehalos
Summary: It reminds him of home, when the waves meet the sand. Crashing beautifully. Though the elements greatly contrast, they fit perfectly together. Blend as one, until one (the water) inevitably pulls away.





	a thousand stars

**Author's Note:**

> title based off of thinking out loud by ed sheeran.  
> this is for the gattaca group chat i'm in, mainly. i hope you all enjoy it.

“What are we doing out here?” Jerome asks, his normal use of foul language gone. It’s different; Vincent wonders why he didn’t swear. He can picture it perfectly. If Jerome were acting like his normal, assholish self, he would have said ‘What the hell are we outside for, you bloody asshole. You’re going to get me sick and I’m going to have to deal with it alone while you’re off frolicking in fucking space-’. He can picture it as clear as the night before them. He can practically feel the tremor of Jerome’s loud, sarcastic voice. “Hello?” Jerome asks, pulling Vincent away from his internal monologue.  “Are you going to answer me, or are we just going to sit here in the cold?” Somethings off about him, Vincent acknowledges; He doesn’t comment on it. He knows well enough that Jerome will get defensive about it, and then he’ll be a real dick. He’s not one to be a sap.

Vincent rolls his eyes “We’re out here because I want to be out here,” he says. Translation:  _ I want to be out here with you; I want you to look at the stars with me.  _

“You couldn’t come out here yourself? You just had to bring me along?” There’s something in Jerome’s tone that Vincent can’t pinpoint, but he’s not sure if he likes it. 

Vincent chooses to ignore him. “I have blankets, if you ever cared to look down you’d’ve seen them. “Besides,” he walks around Jerome’s wheelchair, “it’s not even that cold out.” This earns a particularly displeased sound from the man before him. 

“For you maybe,” Jerome scoffs. Ah, there’s the Jerome Vincent knows and loves. Loves.  

“I’m sure your ‘valid’ genetics can handle it,” Vincent jokes. “And, as I said, I have blankets. I can even give you my hoodie if you want it so badly.” He goes to put his arms under Jerome’s, so he can lift him out of his chair. “Don’t give me a hard time, please.” Jerome groans.

He’s not a particularly heavy man, but he isn’t as light as a feather, either. He’s the perfect mix between the two, and Vincent realizes he’s going to miss this. He’s done this many times-- took Jerome out of his chair and sat him wherever he pleased. His heart clenches as he realizes that this will be one of the last times he does it before he leaves. 

He places Jerome on the blanket he’d laid down. Jerome sighs. “You still haven’t told me why you’ve brought me out here.” Vincent rolls his eyes, again. He’s sure that, if he stayed here-- as in this house-- he’d end up rolling his eyes clear out of his skull. But he’s not entirely sure that he’d mind. Jerome shivers slightly as Vincent moves to sit down close to him. “Cold?” he asks with a smirk on his face. Jerome scowls at him, ignores him. Vincent watches as another shiver wracks through Jerome’s upper body. “All you have to do is ask for a blanket.”

Jerome scoffs. A smile threatens to appear on Vincent’s lips. “As if,” he said, slight sarcasm lacing his tone. “Besides, blankets are for legs. If you haven’t noticed,” he motions to his legs, which are in a very straight position, and to how his back leans against the edge of the wheelchair, “I don’t need anything for those.” 

“Blankets aren’t just for legs, you fool,” Vincent chuckles softly. He sighs softly as he begins to remove his hoodie.  _ Ah, _ he thinks,  _ The things I’d do for you. _

“Don’t you dare,” Jerome says. His tone has changed again, to the one that was used before. Yeah, Vincent isn’t a fan of it. He hands him the hoodie.

“Just take it,” he says. “I don’t mind. I’m not cold.” Translation:  _ Please put it on. I would give anything just to see you in my clothes. Lord knows how often I wear yours. _ He watches as Jerome takes the hoodie into his hands, watches as he squeezes the material. He likes how his brows furrow when he’s in thought, especially when he’s confused. Jerome opens his mouth to speak, but he closes it again. Vincent would give anything to know what is going on in that complex head of his. He’d give anything to know what he’s thinking. He watches as Jerome slowly puts it on. 

“What? No snarky comment? No ‘it’s too itchy’ or ‘it’s not big enough’?” Vincent asks, trying to busy himself as he reaches for the bottle of wine. He’s trying not to acknowledge the huge elephant in the ‘room’ for as long as he can. It’s getting increasingly harder to manage that though. He hasn’t even boarded the rocket yet, and he already feels miles away from Jerome. He sighs as he pours a glass. Jerome seems to ignore his remark as he fiddles with the hem of his pants. Something is definitely wrong with him, Vincent thinks.  _ How do I fix this? _ He hands the glass to Jerome and Jerome accepts it, immediately putting it to his mouth. He pours his own glass. “I’m going to miss you,” he says at last. He hates to admit it, especially to him. He wanted so badly not to get attached. But, as he’s not so recently discovered, life love’s fucking him over. It’s the truth, though. “Don’t get big-headed now, but I’m going to miss you,” he repeats. “A lot.” 

Jerome puts the glass to his lips and drinks again. It’s quiet enough to hear him swallow. Vincent’s mind screams at him internally,  _ Say something _ . Jerome then looks to him. There’s something in his eyes that Vincent can’t place. There’s a certain softness to them, it almost tears his heart in two. “That sounds like a you problem,” he says. Vincent can call his bluff, if he chooses to. This is one of the few times he can see everything, can read Jerome like a book. It’s like he can see into his soul, at least, that’s what the phrase is, anyway. The eyes are the window to the soul. Who knew.

Instead, though, Vincent chuckles a little. He takes a sip of his wine. The taste is sweet, with a faint aftertaste of cherries. He continues on.  

“It  _ truly _ is, Jerome,” he says. “It truly is.”  _ That _ seems to get Jerome’s attention. He shakes his head slightly. “It’s quite funny, really. If you think about it. The moment I get the chance to leave Earth, I find a reason to stay.” There’s a pause; he takes another sip of his wine. “That’s just my luck, isn’t it?”

Jerome is silent. Vincent looks up at the sky above them. “If you look above you and a little northwest, you can see Orion.” He changes the subject. If only he’d looked over; he would see the tears welling in Jerome’s eyes. He uses his hand to point out Orion’s belt. “The story goes that Orion, who was a magnificent hunter, fell in love with the Pleiades- also known a the seven sisters. If you look just a little over here,” he moves his hand, “You can see them. Do you see that cluster of stars?” He asks. He’s not expecting an answer, hell, he’s not even sure if Jerome is listening. He continues anyway. “He yearned and wanted them, chased them for twelve years until Zeus turned them into stars. He could chase after them all he wanted, but he’ll never catch them.” Vincent says softly. His hand falls. He brings the glass to his lips again. “I think it’s pretty fitting,” he says.  _ Please, please understand as to what I’m getting at. _ “Except I’m no hunter, and I’m only yearning after one person. One star: Sirius. It’s not a member of the Pleiades, but I think Sirius fits my version more.” He wonders what’s going on in Jerome’s head if he’s even listening to him at all. “Sometimes, though, I feel like Orion- Chasing after stars he’ll never be able to get to. But then, sometimes, I don’t. Because I have what I’ve always wanted. I’m living my dream. I’ve worked so hard to achieve it, but it’s not enough. No.” He chuckles slightly. “In my story, Orion turns his eyes the other way and finds Sirius- the brightest, most stunning star in the sky.”

Jerome’s voice wavers as he speaks,”Y-you have no idea what you’re saying.” 

“Did you think I didn’t know what you were planning?” he says softly. “I may be busy, but I’m not oblivious.” There’s no anger in his voice, but the tone makes Jerome want to cry harder. “Did you really think that I’d just leave knowing what you were going to do? Did you really think I’d let you die?” He asks, his voice getting softer. “I’m sorry, Jerome. But I’m selfish; I’m greedy; and, shit, you get on my nerves so fucking much, but I am in love with you.” Vincent turns to look at him, finally. “I’d follow you to the ends of the Earth, even if I couldn’t be with you. Because you, Jerome, are my Pleides, my Sirius, and I’d rather never look at space again than lose you.”

They’re close enough for Vincent to comfortably place his hand on Jerome’s cheek. He wipes his thumb under Jerome’s eye, the skin feeling damp as he wipes the tears away. He smiles sadly. He runs the hand that previously cupped Jerome’s cheek through [Jerome’s] hair. He admires the softness of it- Jerome had just showered an hour or so prior. It’s one of the few times Vincent has ever felt his hair, his  _ natural _ , ungelled hair, in his hand, so he basks in it. He even makes the lame romantic gesture that is trying to tuck it behind his ear. Unfortunately, his hair isn’t nearly long enough for that to be a successful attempt. Vincent chuckles lightly.

He pulls Jerome into a hug. Jerome’s warmth surrounds him; Vincent's heart clenches as [Jerome] hugs him equally as tight. He’s not sure how long they were like that: their arms around each other, their heads in one another’s shoulders, Vincent’s hand slowly sliding along Jerome's back, but it could have been minutes. Or hours. He’s not entirely sure.

Jerome, who’s been particularly quiet throughout the whole ordeal, pulls away first. Vincent doesn’t mind though, in fact, he smiles at him softly. He goes to move away, sensing that their embrace, that their moment, was done, but then he meets Jerome’s eyes. And, suddenly, he’s being pulled forward with such a motion it’s most turbulent. And his lips are meeting Jerome’s with such an urgency he shakes. 

It reminds him of home, when the waves meet the sand. Crashing beautifully. Though the elements greatly contrast, they fit perfectly together. Blend as one, until one (the water) inevitably pulls away. Except, Jerome doesn’t pull away, no, not just yet.

The taste on Jerome's lips is bittersweet; the salt of tears mixed with the sweetness of the cherry whine mix to make an interesting flavour. But it’s with this taste Vincent feels as if everything is going to be okay. He cups his hands on the sides of Jerome’s face. 

 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> feedback (kudos and **comments** ) is greatly appreciated!!!!  
> my gattaca tumblr is @ gaytaca if any of you want to follow me on there!  
> please be nice to me, i haven't posted fic in ages.


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